Of Apocalypses, Boy Bands, and A Repentant Canadian Punk
by blonde roots
Summary: So I dreamed I was being chased by zombies. Suddenly, a wild One Direction appears, followed by Justin Bieber. My wicked-awesome dream has abruptly turned into a nightmare. Also contains a random rant about the song "What Makes You Beautiful". (Fangirl flames are welcomed. I laugh in your faces.)


WARNING: there is a little boy band babbling, but just recounting of facts, nothing else. I am no swooning teeny-bopper, obsessing over somebody I will never meet or personally know.

DISCLAIMER: obviously I do not own One Direction or Justin Beiber, nor do I have any warped desire to, in any way. Don't own Hollywire TV, or any other obvious references I make to things that previously existed before I wrote this wacky account of what goes on in the recesses of my mangled mind when I'm asleep.

FACT: Ever since I had this dream, I've become an insomniac.

ANOTHER WARNING: read on if you dare.

YET ANOTHER WARNING: for the sake of your sanity, you really should probably stop reading now.

January 31, 2014

Okay, so I had the weirdest dream last night. You know... I think I say that about every dream I have! But seriously... this one was honestly the weirdest one I've had that I can remember. I woke up frightened, totally disoriented; my bed soaked (get your mind out of the gutter – it was sweat).

Also, before I continue, let me just explain that, for whatever reason, whenever I have dreams, they are super detailed. And that whole thing people say about, "You dream about what you're thinking about before you sleep" - well, that's total crap.

Ahem.

The beginning was the best part – and of course, it's the one portion of the dream that I don't remember that well. My whole family (both parents, five siblings), friends I knew, people in town, random people I didn't know – we were all running from something. I can't remember what (SO retarded, right?), but it was deadly. Zombies? A flood? Wild animals; a vicious beast? Muttations? Something like that.

We were running up a big hill with bushes and plants all over it. The dense vegetation grabbed at our clothes, tripping our way; slowing us down. I remember this intense feeling of desperation, like the world was about to end and everyone was trying to escape.

The land finally plateaued and flattened out into an arbor-filled vineyard... a peaceful garden place that stretched as far as the eye could see. There were a few people milling about leisurely about some distance in, in contrast to those of us frantically scrambling over the brow of the hill. My dad yelled, "Keep running; go further in and you'll be safe."

So we did, and for whatever reason, that place was protected from whatever plagued the world outside. It was huge, but people were scattered close together in buildings and shelters spanning a small distance. Seeing one unwalled pavilion-shelter with a bunch of unoccupied chairs, I headed in that direction. As I got closer, I was pleased to see several of my friends and acquaintances from school. I went in and plopped down. We exchanged pleasantries, and "Glad to see you made it"s, and "Did you see so-and-so?"s, and "Betcha they didn't escape, the dunces". I was sitting next to my friend Katie.

Suddenly, without any fanfare, but definitely much notice, the members of One Direction ducked under the low roof edge and settled themselves into a few empty chairs.

Now, before I go on with my dream, let me explain something. I am not a One Direction fan. Oh – and even if I'm old and gray or dead when you read this, you should know already who 1D is – unless you've been living under a rock. Again, I'm not a fan – I don't hate their music, but I don't own any of it either – it all sounds very similar to me. And they have enough rabid fangirls without needing me adding myself to the ranks, even if I wanted to.

To prove how not-a-fangirl I am, I shall expound on what little knowledge I have of them. Most of this is probably coming from Hollwire TV, who I am subscribed to on YouTube. (I get a kick out of Hollywood drama. What can I say.)

Five members. Oh yeah, and it's a boy band. (Duh.) Harry Styles, Liam Payne, Niall Horan, Zayn(e) Malik, and Louis (Tomlinson?). I think that's it. Actually, I'm shocked and rather ashamed of myself that I even know all of their names, let alone their last names, too! (Also, I know what they look like, but I'm not going to bother describing them. Use Google for Pete's sake.) Liam – the cutest one, in my opinion, or at least, the most attractive to me. Father figure of the group. Harry – most popular, currently "dating" Kendall Jenner (supposedly), dated Taylor Swift, who in turn wrote "I Knew You Were Trouble" (trouble, trouble, trouble-OHHH sorry) Zayne is engaged to a girl singer with lavender hair, Niall is the youngest, and I know nothing about Louis. Except that he plays rugby. And likes wearing striped shirts.

Erm. I actually know more about them than I thought. Geez. I've never bought or downloaded any of their songs, but I know "What Makes You Beautiful" by heart – who wouldn't, though? It's not as though it doesn't play in every mall from America to Thailand.

I've always gotten a kick out of the lyrics to that one, though. Among other things – the one line that really gets me is the one in the chorus about flipping hair, and then going on to say she doesn't know she's beautiful. Cause honestly? Girls only ever flip their hair if they know they look good. Personally, f I don't know I'm beautiful, then I haven't gone out of my way to look pretty, and my hair's in a braid or a sloppy bun. Which can look artistically pretty, but does not lend itself to flipping.

No: if a girl's flipping her hair, her hair has to be down, and if her hair is down, then she has made sure before leaving her house that it looks good that way – whether straightened, curled, or bohemian. BOYS: IF SHE IS FLIPPING HER HAIR SHE KNOWS SHE'S BEAUTIFUL. Which... so... does that mean she isn't beautiful? Because in the song, she's beautiful because she doesn't know she's beautiful. But if she knows she's beautiful, then...

Case in point. And if, by any chance, I was flipping my hair because the wind was blowing in my face - "the way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed"?

Overwhelmed? My hair-flipping _overwhelms_ you?!

Please. Man up. I wouldn't want to slaughter you with a wink.

How did I get onto this rant? My dream? A random 1D appears? My explanation? Oh yes. Songs I know. I've watched the music vid for "Best Song Ever" a couple times, (and by the way, The Ready Set has the best Best Song Ever, not 1D... though I must admit 1D's is pretty catchy) and Zayne as the woman is epically horrifying. Period. Disturbing.

Little Things. Uhh – they just came out with a new album, Midnight Memories – earlier this year? No, that was last year. Well anyway, I'd recognize a song by them if I heard it, probably. But if you've heard one, you've heard them all.

Don't get me wrong – I'm not insulting them; just stating a fact. Their songs are fun, poppy, would get me grooving – but am I going to remember them? Well, maybe if I hear the same song pumped into my head over and over, from grocery store to mall to outlet – but otherwise, no. They don't inspire deeper feelings from me – they get me moving – and that's what they're for. Fun and fluffy. Not deep. Not memorable. Just momentary.

_Are they talented?_ Well, they became famous through X-Factor, on which the competitors have to perform live, minus le autotune, so – yes. They are talented.

_Are they attractive?_ Uh. Yes. I would have to be blind and deaf not to notice.

_Are they memorable?_ Well, my memory has betrayed me into realizing they are, so yes.

So what it really boils down to is: _are they my style?_ Erm. Nope. I suppose that could change if I actually met and liked them, but until that happens (a.k.a. never), I'm going to continue saying no.

Ahem. Now back to my dream. The boys sat down, and all the teenage girls were whispering and giggling, but then suddenly everything got really, really quiet. As if the boys were aliens or something. Then a random adult stood up with a microphone, and for whatever reason, the thing was being passed around, and people were singing one, long sustained note into it, and if it sounded good, everyone clapped. (Dream-me thought this was incredibly stupid, and I folded my arms stubbornly across my chest in insistent mental refusal to clap.)

Of course, the mic eventually got passed around to the band boys. But when Niall sang his note, nobody clapped. He coughed a little and sang it again. Still no clapping. Exasperated with everyone for treating them like they had the plague, I clapped a little to start everyone else, because I felt bad for him. I thought the whole thing was stupid, One Direction or not, but I didn't think it was right to refuse him the common courtesy everyone else was receiving.

I don't really remember the next few details, but suddenly all the girls were lined up, sitting in chairs in a group, and then the band members were wandering around us, like we were bait worms for their hungry little fishiness appetites, and they were searching for the juiciest ones. My fury started blooming from the indignation – and then Zayne stopped in front of Katie with a smirk, and she gazed adoringly up at him.

Now, Katie is a very sensible, no-nonsense friend of mine. I don't think she even listens to One Direction – so to see her brains completely melted by an attractive face made me undeniably frustrated. Worked up into a veritable fury, and realizing that I was still a part of the whole... choosing thing (a veritable Reaping!), I got up and started gathering my belongings, which were all scattered behind the chairs a few of the boys were sitting in. (Why I suddenly had stuff, I don't know. I certainly hadn't brought any in my apocalyptic race up the hill. But hey, it was a dream.)

Louis, Niall, and Harry were sitting in front of me, talking and laughing; probably discussing girls to choose, while I was angrily shoving notebooks, my laptop, and pens into my messenger bag. Impulsively, I looked up to see Harry looking at me. Then his gaze dipped toward my neckline, and he winked. I realized my shirt was gaping open; furious again, I slapped my hand over my chest and gave him a glare that would have melted the snow on a mountaintop ten miles away. Standing, I stalked away, swinging the handle of my bag over my shoulder like a boss.

Of course, I could still hear his laughter even as I beat it out of there. Infuriating male.

I spent the rest of the day helping around different shelters – cleaning, playing with kids, hauling rubbish and trash out to the edges of the plateau, and distributing supplies.

The rubbish-hauling activities continued until after dark. Any trash was taken out to the edge, where it was very dystopian-like with abandoned, collapsing office buildings and a few orange streetlamps that weren't broken.

I was lugging a huge pack of water bottles with some random guy out to the edge. They were contaminated with some sort of oil or gas, so we had to get rid of them.

When we reached the trash area, I noticed there was a cut electrical wire sparking on the sidewalk. I had a quick thought that we should avoid it, when the plastic of the package broke, and several oil-soaked water bottles rolled across the ground. I threw the rest aside and grabbed what I could reach, but one rolled straight into the sparks. Seemingly in slow motion, I leapt for the bottle, which had caught fire, and threw it as far as I could away from us.

It exploded, causing a mini-earthquake, and I hit the ground. (I realize that doesn't make much sense. But come on. My mind. My dream. 'Nuff said.)

I was lying on the concrete, covered in soot and grime, and suddenly Harry was there, Zayne behind him. He helped me up; half-carried me to another building. My random helper guy disappeared. (Thanks, man. Way to leave me to the sharks.)

We ducked through several doorways until Harry pushed one door open into a bathroom. He unceremoniously set me down on the floor of the shower, turned the water on, and sat down across from me. Get your minds out of the gutter. We were fully clothed while the spray beat down on us.

I was busily thanking my mind for this – a dream within a dream – but I thanked it too soon. Because the next thing that happened: my clothes disappeared. So there I am, knees pulled up to my chest, sitting naked in a shower with a still-clothed Harry Styles. Trust me when I say that must've been a nightmare for him, my... nightmare. Okay, never mind. I'll just say, me naked is not a pretty sight. Thankfully, he never looked anywhere but at my face, and his expression never changed. In a few minutes (not soon enough!) I was clothed again, and we stood and got out, and I was dry and clean. We went to find Zayne, who was in the next room over, up on a chair looking at the chandelier. He got down, and we left.

The next day we all went to a big church. I was crammed in the middle of a pew. Some girls were up on the platform singing a gospel song, when one of the side doors opened and Justin Beiber walked in.

I've gotta say something else – I am not a Justin Beiber fan, either. And this is different from my truce-like complacence for One Direction: I DO NOT like Justin Beiber. I don't like his music, and I don't like him. Actually, I know more about him as a person than I do about his music. I am proud to say that I don't have any of his songs – by intention or passive listening – memorized. All I know is, he and Selena Gomez were an item for a really long time, Taylor Swift didn't like it, he has ridiculous fashion taste, he just got arrested for drunk driving when he was racing his awesome car that he clearly doesn't deserve down the highway, he supposedly egged the neighbor's house, his friends are potheads. Apparently there's even a petition going around for him to be deported back to Canada. (Thank you, Hollywire TV, for this information I don't even want.) Anyway... OH CRAP! I just remembered I have "Beauty and a Beat" and "As Long As You Love Me" on my iTunes. Noooooooo.

In my defense, they're both covers, not the originals. Covers by Alex Goot. Yes, he is that awesome (Alex, not Justin), that he can take JB's music and make it epic. Still, even with it being done by Alex Goot, I avoided listening to them for months. I've never bothered to listen to either of the originals.

Ahem. Now I hate myself. BUT I HAVE NOT GIVEN IN – to anything except for my love for Alex Goot.

Sooo – yeah. JB walked in. He looked very subdued, and kind of slumped into the first available seat he could find. Everyone was staring his way with disapproving looks on their faces. I started to feel kind of bad for him. (Be strong, heart!) Then, towards the middle of the song, his face changed, and he started smiling. On the last chorus, he stood up and starting singing with them – but it wasn't affected or put-on at all; no fancy trills or voice dips, just pure sincerity. Like it stemmed from a truly-changed heart.

As soon as he sat down, I heard the whispers and murmurs start, and I was angry – truly angry. No one has a right to judge whether someone's sincere or not – but that's exactly what they were doing. Someone leaned over to whisper to me, but I immediately replied, "I don't want to hear it."

Understand – I don't condone or support his past actions at all. I'm not even saying that I like him now, or that he deserves a second chance – he has had several. But if he actually changed his behavior for the better, who am I to judge? I'd say, more power to him. If he truly changed (though I doubt it'd be in a church like that, haha) and people still made fun of him, that's stupid – he might as well just continue being a little punk.

Anyway – back to the dream. Yes, there's still more.

Outside the building, a bunch of people were exiting and milling around. I had told a couple close friends about the whole Harry thing, and one of them grabbed my shoulder and whispered, "Look, there he is."

Harry was passing by maybe twenty feet away, and his gaze kind of swept past me and he kept walking. I was under the impression that he didn't see me. Of course, he could have been ignoring me, too. I didn't bother trying to approach him. It just evidenced my mental point to myself: that there's his type and my type, and never the twain shall meet.

Believe it or not, I wasn't feeling heartbroken over it.

As the apocalypse continued, my friends and I were assigned to live in the house – the same house where Harry and Zayne had taken me, with the incredibly creepy shower incident? Yeah, that one. Then – the dream got fuzzy from there on out.

I was promoted as a leader, and the girls, my team. We had maps and plans – I remember, we had one laid out on a table beneath the chandelier, and we were discussing what to do about the enemy's inner knowledge of our plans. How were they finding out our moves, and who could the spy or spies be?

One thought struck me with clarity: Zayne. The chandelier. I pulled a chair over beneath it, stood on it to examine the lighting closer – and, hidden in the fixtures, disguised by all the crystals and general grandeur of the thing – was a little black box and wires, which I carefully disconnected and disposed of.

Zayne was the spy, and Harry must have just been distracting me in the shower (wow that sounds _wrong_) so Zayne could do his dirty work.

Then I woke up. The End.

_I don't know why my mind decided to make Zayne the bad guy – I actually have more respect for him than some of the other members, I mean, from what little I know. He's engaged, and yeah, he's young, but I think it's cool that he's committed to one girl and isn't just playing the field, trying to milk it for all he's worth while he's young and at the height of his fame. _

_Also, if you actually read this far, congratulations! Really. For wading through the dark and rotting recesses of what my brain dredged forth. I would love if you reviewed this, even if you hated it (honestly, I would even appreciate flames). Seeing people's differing opinions on all of the... controversial subjects present in this dream would greatly intrigue me. So even if you just type, "U FAT LARD GO EAT A COOKIE AND END UR MISERY", I will sit here clapping with glee like a deranged and evil five-year-old. Then I will go eat a cookie._


End file.
